Italy's Last Straw
by what-happened-in-peru
Summary: Russia has decided that he likes Italy's beaches and wants to take over! Will Italy stand for this? Is there something that will actually push him over the edge? Read on!
1. Surprise Guest

**Hetalia and all related characters and concepts belong to Hidekazu Himaruya and Gentosha Inc. **

**~Written by B. **

Italy was waiting for his pasta sauce to be done when he heard a knock on the door. "Ve, someone's here! I wonder who it could be, has Romano come early?" He opened the door and was faced with beige fabric. Confused, he looked up. It was Russia.

The big man towered over Italy with a calm smile on his face. This did not seem to match the gun in his left hand. "Aaaah! Mr. Russia please don't hurt me," Italy babbled. "You're so big and I'm so small and you have a gun! Why did you bring a gun, guns are scary! Oh, please Mr. Russia, I don't want to be killed, I surrender!" he shouted, violently waving one of his signature white flags.

Russia gave a laugh. "Of course you do, small one," he said, patting the trembling Italy on the head. _Where__ do those many white flags of his come from, I wonder_? "I am not here at this moment to cause you harm," he said pleasantly. "I am through with my torturing for the day. You see, I am needing you to sign this." He brought a document out from his pocket.

Italy looked at the document with a dazed look. "But the gun... It's so scary I don't want to see it! Why do people have guns, I don't like it. I think no one should have them they suck! They're too loud and hurtful! Ve, without guns the world would be nicer I think..." he trailed off, then realized who he was talking to. The tall Russian was looking down at him with a frighteningly still face. "But I'm sure your gun is better than other peoples' guns, it's totally okay if you have one, come on in!" He jumped out of the way for the big man and shook as they sat themselves down in the den.

"Stopping with the worry, my talkative friend. I merely need you to sign here," he said, pointing to the line at the bottom of the page. "I have just brought the gun in the event that things do not go as planned. I am hoping we understand each other, da?"

Italy gave him a blank look. "Well sure, you have an important thingamabob you want me to sign! Let me see it," he said, grabbing at it like a child.

"Why is that?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. He held the document higher, out of the small Italian's reach.

"Uhh," Italy shrank back and looked sheepishly at Russia. "Mr. Germany always told me not to sign things until I read them! He was so nice to me, I should visit him again sometime. He trained me so good! So if I could see it..." he said, hesitating.

"Of course, comrade," replied Russia. He held the page out to Italy.

Italy took it and looked it over. _There are a lot of big words here, it will take forever to read them all_. "Uuuh so I totally read all of it but why do you want me to do...whatever it says here?"

"Oh," replied Russia, "See, I am in the market for a new summer home. Your beaches are quite nice and so I have decided to take them for myself." He smiled.

Italy returned the smile and signed the page. "Well why didn't you just say so?" he said loudly. "It's true the beaches are really nice and sunny and everyone is really happy there it's a great place to build you're new house! Vee, you're always welcome to visit here, Mr. Russia!"

"Well of course I am, I own you now," he said casually, stuffing the document back into his pocket. He ruffled Italy's hair and left, taking his gun with him.


	2. Rough Waters

Italy continued on as usual after Russia's strange visit. The pasta sauce had turned out nicely and Romano enjoyed it, although he tried not to show it. But Romano had left and Italy was all alone again.

He looked out the window. It was really sunny and warm out. _Maybe I should invite Germany over. It'll be fun! We can go to the beach and swim and get a fan. Germany's so pale he could use some sunlight. We'll have a great time together!_

He dialed Germany's number. "Hallo?" he answered.

"Hey Germanyy! It's so nice here! The sun is out and it's warm and I still have leftover pasta from last night! You should come over we could hang out and swim and eat together and-"

"I'm sorry, Italy," he interrupted. "I'm afraid I cannot visit you. Russia has put orders in place preventing any visitors to your country."

"Whaat? That's so mean, people should be able to visit me! He can't keep people out, why would he want to do that I mean it's so beautiful here we should share it with everyone!"

Germany paused. "Wait. Italy, how did this happen? Did you sign your country over to him?"

"No, of course not! He just came over a couple days ago and said how pretty my beaches are! He said something about building a summer home so I told him he could because why not? I haven't really heard from him since then, I wonder where he is. I hope he's doing okay he seemed pretty happy. Well happy for Mr. Russia, anyway. I don't know why he's so quiet all the time. I remember at the fun meetings we all have he just sits watching us all. I love those meetings, they're so fun and I get to see all my friends and-"

"Would you shut up for five minutes!?" he shouted through the phone. Italy went silent. "Thank you. Now, Italy, listen to me. Did you sign something for him?"

"Oh yeah! He said something about beaches and he wanted a place to go for vacations and stuff! So I signed it and said he was welcome here anytime!"

"Oh, Italy. You've managed to get yourself into another mess... Did you even read the document like I told you?"

"Yes of course! Well, no not really. It was so long and boring and there were so many big words I didn't want to read them all! So I thought he just wanted to build a new house on the beach and besides, he brought a gun with him! It was so big and scary it was almost as big as I am! I don't like guns they-"

"Italy! You are such and idiot why don't you ever listen!?" he shouted angrily.

"Please don't yell at me Mr. Germany! You're so loud and scary when you yell at me so please don't be angry it makes me feel bad! Please Mr. Germany I'm sorry for not reading it could you please help me!" Italy started to bawl.

Germany went quiet again. "Italy. Go find Russia. Now." He made an exasperated sound. -I'm going to regret this...- "Tell him if he doesn't give you back what's yours, he will have to answer to me."

Italy went to find Russia right away. He called his house but no one answered the phone. Finally, after searching for an hour, Italy found Russia sitting in a chair on the beach. -Strange, there's no one else here!-

"Hey... um... Mr. Russia. I called Germany over and he said he wasn't allowed! And why isn't anyone else here, this is usually the busiest part of the beach!"

"Oh, I sent them all away," he replied without looking at Italy. "They were making unpleasant noise, especially the couple that was over there." He pointed to the bush a few feet behind him. "But I prefer it quiet. So I said they could either surrender and leave or fight me for the beach. Obviously they chose the former." He gestured to the empty beach around him and smiled. "Is there something you must say to me, small one?"

"Oh, right. Germany's really angry I signed your paper thing he said to tell you that... Either give me back what's mine or answer to him PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!" he crouched and waved his white flag as soon as he finished speaking.

Russia went still. "...and what do you think of this? I am suggesting you speak carefully. It is Tuesday, after all."

"Well, I don't think I mind much I guess," he said, trembling. "Ve, as long as I have friends to visit and pasta to eat I'm happy."

"Pasta..." he repeated. "That is being the long floury food you make often here, da? I am not liking the pasta so I got rid of it."

Italy said nothing for a full minute.

"NO PASTAAAAAAAA?!"


	3. On the Edge

It had been three days since Italy had found out about his beloved pasta being taken away from him. He didn't want to bother Germany again so soon, so he tried this best to resolve the problem himself.

First, he tried to find any pasta in the country that Russia may have left alone. He frantically searched all his pasta cabinets in hopes of finding a half-empty bag of penne at the very least, but alas, there was none.

Italy ran three blocks to the nearest restaurant faster than he had ever run before and burst through the doors. "Excuse me but by any chance do you serve pasta?!" he shouted.

All the Italians looked up wearily from their drinks. The store owner said to him with a glum face, "I'm very sorry, sir. But the pasta shortage has affected us as it has all the other restaurants in the country. All the pasta just mysteriously disappeared one night as if some scary ghost had taken it!" Italy's shoulders slumped as he gave the owner a look of despair. He nodded and left.

"ROMANO," he shouted through the phone when he got home, "Vee, please tell me you have some pasta to spare! Scary Mr. Russia took it all away when he realized he didn't like it because he was staying here which he really shouldn't have been but I signed something and now all the pasta's gone and there's nothing I can do about iiit!" Italy sat sobbing in a pool of his own tears as he waited for his brother to respond.

"Look, Veneziano, I don't know what sorta stunt that vodka-lovin' bastard pulled on you but the pasta is your problem, not mine! We were running out as it is, goddammit! So why don't you call on your potato-sucking bastard friend of yours and whine to him, I'm busy here!"

"Oh Romanoo~" Italy could hear in the background, "Come back to uncle Spain, si? I brought another box of tomatoes for youuu!"

"Oh, shit, leave me alone you bastard!" Romano shouted to Spain. Returning to the phone, he spat, "Goddammit, Veneziano, I gotta get this douche bag off my back so good luck with all that." He slammed the phone down.

Italy didn't know where else to turn. He just didn't want to be yelled at any more, and he wanted his pasta back. Was that too much to ask? His stomach rumbled. He was craving it again. That was it, he decided. He was going to try to confront Russia about it once more.

Italy slowly approached Russia's new summer cottage. Trembling, he reached for the doorbell, then stopped. He could hear yelling coming from inside.

"Please be stopping the calling me, little sister!" It was Russia. "I cannot stand having to keep repeating myself; how many times have I told you?" Russia sounded angry, but there was something else in his voice that Italy had never heard before. Fear. There was a pause while the nation on the other end of the line spoke. Russia made what sounded like a yelp then shouted again, "STOP IT." Another pause. "Please… What, no! NO. As if I would be doing the telling you. No I am happy here where I am. Yes I'm eating. NO I DON'T NEED YOU."

Italy cautiously peeked into the door.

Russia threw the phone out the window and sat in the corner with a terrified look on his face. He took a deep breath. "No," he was muttering to himself, "there is no way she could be knowing where I am currently. It does not matter, I will not be marring that psycho…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Why won't she just leave me alone, da?" And they wonder why I am always trying to leave.."

The little Italian was frozen in shock. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Russia's lip was trembling. And if his eyes weren't deceiving him, he could see the intimidating country's eyes get blood red. A single tear fell to the ground as he laid his head on his knees, buried in his long scarf.

"Keep it together, Ivan," he whispered to himself. "You've held out this long. You're safe here."


	4. Siblings

Italy backed away from the door, hoping to go unnoticed. To his misfortune, the tall nation heard his footsteps and popped up, plastering a fake smile upon his face. Italy was careful to make it look like he had just arrived.

"H-hi," he mumbled.

"Oh, hello," Any clues from his previous mood had disappeared by the time he reached the door. "Can I help you?" His Russian accent was thicker after speaking with his sister.

"Oh, ah, well… I was wondering if you'd reconsider the pasta situation, si? I do really love it and I'm sure I could find some sort of pasta dish you'd like."

Russia made a noise of indifference and shrugged. "What is done is done," He looked down at Italy's heartbroken look with slight amusement. "Anything else?"

Italy looked down. His voice got quiet and he worked up the courage to say, "I miss having my friends over.."

"I will be your friend though, da? You do not need anyone else," His smile was honest but his eyes were deceiving. Russia towered over the small nation and pulled him close. "My new pet will stay close to me. This place is so much nicer than my previous home; I think I will stay a while. Your people will learn Russian soon and then all will be good!" He ruffled Italy's hair and smiled. "That silly pasta was not even that good to begin with. I am determined to give this place all the comforts of home, without the cold and the snow and the annoying relatives.." he muttered the last part.

The trembling nation just stood there, unsure of what to do next.

"You will be happy with the new arrangements, da?" This was a one-sided argument, Italy recognized, as most were when dealing with Russia. The tiny nation was pouting, but gave a little nod.

"Good, now if you will excuse me, I have some paperwork to clear up. Amuse yourself elsewhere for now, but I expect you back soon."

Knowing he wasn't going to get any more out of his visit, Italy obeyed. He scurried off to his home to call Germany in hopes he'd have an idea.

* * *

"Germany! I… I'm really sorry to bother you again! I just… I really need your help now. I tried everything: asking around locally, talking to my fratello. I even tried confronting Russia but that sure didn't turn out well. Please, could you help me? I'm no good at this stuff!"

Germany said nothing for a minute. "Italy, do you know if he has a weakness?"

"I don't think so, he's Russia," The sobbing nation thought for a moment and remembered his previous encounter with him. "Wait, I think I saw him crying earlier today."

"…Crying?" Germany replied in surprise.

"Si, he was on the phone. It sounded like it was his sister. One of them, anyway. He looked pretty scared, actually."

"Hm… I do recall his younger sister Belarus bothering him. He did look more uncomfortable around her," Italy perked up as Germany continued. "I have an idea I'd like to try."

Italy breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, the floor is yours! If you have an idea, go ahead and I'll do anything I can!"

* * *

The plan seemed like a good one. Italy just had to continue spending time with Russia as if nothing had happened. Germany would deal with the rest, although Italy didn't really know what "the rest" entailed. A week later, he went to Russia's new residence on the beach as he had been ordered to do.

"I'm here," he mumbled, "Like you asked."

"Good. Come, try some piroshiki."

Italy looked at him in confusion. "O-okay." He sat down at the dining room table for lunch and looked anxiously at the door. Germany was due to show up soon, regardless of Russia's strengthened borders. He turned his attention back to the food, still missing his regular pasta lunch. They sat in silence until two people arrived at the front door.

Germany calmly stood in the doorway. "Ja, that's them." He nodded towards the two of them.

The woman with Germany gave them both a death glare and rushed into the dining room. Italy had only enough time to assume this was Russia's sister Belarus before she had him up against the wall, holding a knife to his throat. "How DARE you be so close to Big Brother?!" she shouted. "You should die! He is MINE and you will SUFFER."

"Belarus," Germany said sternly. "Kindly step off of him and give him a chance to explain. I'm sure Italy is not the one you should be after at this time."

She sneered at both of them, but gave Italy about an inch more space, bringing her knife away. Italy was frozen, still afraid of the girl with the knife. He just stood there, shaking, as Belarus' expression grew more and more menacing.

"Italy.." Germany spoke in a warning tone. Italy turned to him with desperate questioning eyes. The blonde nation stepped closer and rolled his eyes. Sighing, he said, "Stop shaking and explain what is going on."

"O-oh, o-okay," he began. He recounted everything that had happened, stressing the fact that it was

* * *

idea, not his. With each word, Belarus glared less at Italy and more at her brother, who happened to be inching away from her as discreetly as he could.

By the time he finished, he was burying his face in Germany's neck and crying. "Please don't hurt me," he squeaked, not looking at Russia or Belarus.

Germany sighed and stroked Italy's hair, knowing how shaken up he was. He looked expectantly at Belarus, then over at Russia.

Slowly, Belarus smiled. It started out a sweet smile, then evolved into a maniacal grin as she approached her brother. "Oh Vanya, how silly of you! Why have you come to such a…" she turned to Italy for a moment before returning her attention to Russia, "pathetic place? Come, we shall return home," she said, looking at her knife, then adding, "together~"

Russia gave them both a pleading look before being dragged out the door, Belarus looking pleased with herself.

"Well, I suppose all that's left now is to destroy the paperwork," Germany said. Italy looked up at him hopefully. "But first," he added, "we'll go get you some pasta."

* * *

A/N: Well, I'm truly sorry that this took SO RIDICULOUSLY LONG for me to update. I didn't really like the story, so it took a lot of pestering to get me to finish it. Now I can work on my other stories and I can worry less about this one. I'm not thrilled with it, but I do hope you enjoyed it. By the way, there is a reference to something in here, and if you catch it then you get an internet cookie. Please review~

~B.


End file.
